


a little of his heart in theirs

by ironarana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), ironfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 17:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironarana/pseuds/ironarana
Summary: They're there for Peter. Almost in the same way Tony was.Almost.





	a little of his heart in theirs

Peter is flying through Manhattan chasing someone who is standing a shining metal glider. 

He swings through the streets in hot pursuit, the familiar shoot-pull-release of webslinging a muscle memory he barely has to think about, which is both a blessing and a hindrance. 

Because when he doesn’t have to think too hard about something, his mind tends to wander. He wants to say he’s one hundred percent focused on the man in the green suit on the glider - _what’s a good name? Goblin?_ \- but Peter’s been chasing him for sometime now from north to south and the island of Manhattan, unfortunately, is very long and his attention span is very short. He’s growing tired of chasing the guy and he wishes, distantly, there was someone else who deal with this for him. 

He’s too young to feel too bored of the superhero game. 

But still. He plays. 

Finally, Peter manages to catch up and shoots a web at the glider. The added weight also adds drag and the Goblin slows down, hardly. 

“Oh, come on, man,” Peter sighs. “Just gimme a break already!” 

As Peter goes flying through the air, the Goblin dragging him like the Vulture did on homecoming night, Peter positions himself and swings into a building, planting his legs on the side of it in the hope he can stop the Goblin from flying further. 

He grunts as the Goblin tries to pull forward but the tensile of strength of Peter’s webs is something he’s thankful for. The Goblin can’t get past the opposite edge of the building and Peter thinks he’s got this in the bag. 

He hopes. 

He hasn’t won anything in a while. And when he has won, it’s felt a lot like losing ever since…

Ever since. 

“Finally, victory is mine,” Peter grits out, pulling the Goblin closer and closer towards himself. 

Then he feels a shift in the bricks. 

They start to crumble, bits of debris falling into the alley below. The Goblin is beginning to gain distance. 

Peter uses all his strength to pull back, to stop him from getting any farther, but the engine - does the glider have an engine? - or something revs like a sports car and Peter can feel the tension in his webs growing and growing. 

Then the webs snap. 

The edge of the building is completely destroyed, bricks flying everywhere, as the Goblin takes off for the Atlantic. Peter, taken by surprise, falls forward onto the building roof. 

He regains his wits quick and scans the sky, shoots up at an angle when he catches sight of the Goblin. The latter ascends higher and higher into the clouds, dragging Peter along with him. 

“It’s time to go, Spider-Man!” Goblin declares as he begins to soar high over the Atlantic. 

Deja vu feels a lot like a faint sinking in Peter’s stomach, neurons firing off in his head. 

The Goblin unsheathes a dagger from a hidden holster and throws it, slicing the web, and Peter begins his descent, yelling as gravity pushes him down through the clouds as the Goblin shrinks. For a second, the Goblin and the Vulture are interchangeable. He sees them disappearing into the clouds as Karen warns in his ear, “Peter! You have not reinstalled your parachute. Brace for impact!” 

He holds his breath as he plunges into the Atlantic. 

The water is hard upon entry. The impact ripples through his bones as he sinks deeper, the cold shocking. He somehow tastes salt, despite the suffocating nature of his mask. 

Peter shivers underwater, the darkness surrounding him threateningly, and he raises his arms over his head, then brings them down, swimming for the surface. His lungs burn. It’s a long way to the top, and dark outside. He can’t tell where the water ends and the world begins until his fingertips hit air. 

Once above water, he gasps for oxygen and inhales wet, the mask absorbing moisture. He coughs and coughs and his fingers scramble for the edge of his mask while he treads water. He peels it up to expose his mouth and nose but leaves his eyes covered. There’s too much salt in his mouth and he tastes a hint of something disgusting too, like seaweed. 

“Ugh, gross,” he mutters to himself, casting his eyes to the city. 

It’s gonna be a long swim, he thinks, until his gaze snatches onto something closing in on his position. It’s shiny, and he can barely make out the silhouette, but it almost looks like…

It is. 

“Hey!” Peter shouts and waves his arms wildly overhead. “Hey, I’m over here! I’m over here!” 

He dips under a few times, unable to tread while signaling his position, and inhales more ocean water. His nostrils are on fire and he’s getting a migraine from all the salt. 

The iron suit skims over the surface of the ocean, water flying and rippling, and reaches for him. Peter grabs hold of the metal arms and lets the suit lift him out of the water. 

He tries to cast his eyes up to see who the suit belongs to. The eye slits which glow with white tell him the suit is a violet color. 

Which means Ms. Potts flew all the way out here to rescue him. 

She sets him down on the sandy banks where he proceeds to take the mask completely off and wring it out. She hovers a few feet in front of him, bootjets causing water to ripple out inches underneath them. 

“You alright, kid?” she asks, voice tinged with static. 

Peter wrings his mask out over the sand. Already, it’s clinging to the wet, skin tight fabric of his suit. 

“Yeah, I’m-I’m fine, Ms. Potts,” he replies. “Thanks for the rescue but you didn’t have to come all the way out here, I could’ve swimmed.” Wait, no. “Swam?” His brows cinch together in confusion. “Swum?” 

Ms. Potts laughs. “No, no, no, I didn’t come all the way out here.” 

The faceplate of the armor lifts to reveal a hollow inside with blinking lights. 

Peter feels his hopes falling, disappointment settling heavy on his shoulders. He hoped she’d be here, in person, and she wouldn’t have just sent an empty suit to save him. 

He’s been too alone lately and this, aggressively, just reminds him how alone he truly is out here. As Spider-Man. As Peter Parker. There’s no Tony anymore to come save him, not even an empty Iron Man suit to save the day. 

At least when an empty suit came, Tony was on the other line. His presence was still felt even from a distance. Peter hated it but sometimes that’s how it had to be. 

What he wouldn’t give now for an Iron Man suit to save him, if only it meant Tony was still on the other line. 

“I still have a daughter and a company who needs me.” 

Peter looks up when he hears Pepper’s voice. She can’t see him, which means he can emote all he wants just so long as she doesn’t hear it in his voice. 

“I can’t come and save you every time,” she continues. “I really wish I could though.” 

“It’s...it’s alright,” Peter replies, quiet. He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s okay, Ms. Potts, really, I’m fine.” 

Silence permeates the air between them. “You know, we’re gonna go see him,” she says, finally. “This weekend, Morgan, Happy, Rhodey and I. If you want to come, you can.” 

Peter shivers, cold seeping into his bones. He activates the heater manually and hopes relief will flood through with the heat. Steam emanates from the suit but he doesn’t feel any better. There a hard, cold knot his heart beats around and it’s painful, still. Too soon, still. 

“Thank you, Ms. Potts,” Peter responds, trying to sound candidly thankful for the offer even as his throat swells from emotion. He sniffles. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you know.” 

“Okay. You have my number, you know where to find me.” 

The faceplate closes and the suit stiffens. “Ms. Potts is no longer connected,” FRIDAY informs and the armor flies away, light of the bootjets fading into the night. 

-

**Rhodey (2:00pm):**   
_Meet me @ the diner @ 3pm. Bring your suit in a bag._

-

Peter is not sure what to expect but when he walks through the diner doors, Colonel Rhodes is waiting for him, sitting at a window seat for two and nursing a steaming cup of coffee. 

He clenches the strap of the duffle bag dangling out of his hand and steels himself, squares his shoulders and ventures across the checkered linoleum. Rhodey notices him and gives a short wave. Peter offers a small smile, lips pressed in a line. 

“Hey there, Pete,” Rhodey greets as Peter settles into the chair across from him. “Long time no see. How’s the Boy Wonder?” 

Peter shrugs and sets the bag underneath the table. “Yeah, I’m alright.” 

“How’s school going?” Rhodey stirs his coffee with a metal spoon. “Your aunt told me your decathlon team qualified for regionals this year.” 

Peter nods. “Yeah, yeah we did. If it goes well, then we’ll be going on to nationals this year.” 

“Mm. Where are they being hosted this year?” 

“Seattle.” 

Rhodey grins. “Nice. Been there a couple times, they got an Air Force base up there. Bring a jacket, it gets rainy.” 

“I will, thanks.” 

A waitress approaches the table - Julie - and asks if Peter would like anything to drink. He orders a Coke. She scribbles it down on her notepad and promises it will be out in a minute. 

Once she leaves, Peter shifts in his seat, looks at Rhodey who suddenly is refusing to look him in the eye. Something in Peter’s stomach drops. Somehow, he doesn’t think Colonel Rhodes invited him here just to talk about school. There’s another factor at play. And while he’s usually curious about unknowns, he’s not sure if he actually wants to know what this conversation is really going to be about. 

“Peter,” Rhodey begins, light. “I heard about what happened last night.” 

Peter feels like the other shoe is going to drop and he tries to defend himself before it does, brushing it off with a casual, “Really? Cause-cause that was nothing, Colonel Rhodes, I had that, I was fine.” 

“Judging by the way Pepper made it sound, looks like it would’ve been a long swim for you.” 

Peter flounders. “Yeah, yeah, but I-I would’ve made it. I mean, I would’ve been fine. After all, it’s not-not the worst thing that’s happened to me.” He adds an awkward, breathy laugh to try and alleviate the tension filling his insides. 

Rhodey’s lips tip up in the slightest and he nods as he listens to the rambling. “I know,” he replies. “But I also know patrolling’s been hard for you ever since…” 

Peter knows. He does. 

“You know, your aunt and I talk, Peter,” Rhodey continues. “She sends me updates. And you’ve been coming home more injured than not. She’s getting real worried about you.” 

Frustration and sadness come to a simmer underneath Peter’s skin. Rhodey has the upper hand here and Peter doesn’t like feeling inferior and at a disadvantage. He dips his head down and stifles a sigh. 

“Look, I know it’s been hard lately with...everything that happened,” Rhodey says. “So believe me when I tell you this is for your own good. And it’s only temporary, okay? You’ll get it back in a week.” 

That gets his attention. 

Peter snaps his head up. “What?” he breathes, unbelieving. 

Rhodey sighs as Peter scrambles for an answer. “Wait, wait, wait, Rhodey, what are-what are you talking about?” His brows crease in confusion as reality begins to creep in on him and with it comes denial, its tendrils coiling around his stomach and squeezing. His breathing hitches in his throat, which grows thick.

_Please, no. No, no, no, please don’t do this, please don’t do this, please._

“Peter,” Rhodey edges out, slowly, like Peter is on a cliff. “I’m gonna take your suit.” 

Peter realizes, with a startling and maddening clarity, that meeting in a diner was deliberate. He can’t fight and be upset here, in public. On a rooftop overlooking the Pacific, sea salt breeze blowing through his hair as he yelled at Tony, he could be as mad as he wanted. 

But here? He feels beaten down and raw as defeat swallows him whole. 

“It’s only temporary,” Rhodey reiterates kindly but it doesn’t help lessen the blow. “Your aunt and I both believe you just need some time off. That’s all.” 

Peter sets his elbows on the table’s edge and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to hide how his eyes sting with tears of betrayal. How could she? How could May do this? She knows how much the suit and Spider-Man means to him and yet, she went behind his back to talk with Rhodey. 

No more secrets. They had promised each other. They had both meant it. 

But maybe promises only lasted for so long. 

“Listen, I have to go,” Rhodey says, “I have a meeting with the secretary to get to later. You want to give me the bag?” 

Peter tries to ignore what feels like a lead ball growing in his chest where his heart should be and peels his fingers away from his face, reaches underneath the table. The bag feels like a ten ton weight in his hands as he maneuvers it around himself and hands it to Rhodey, who is already standing to go. 

Rhodey takes it and in exchange, slips a twenty dollar bill onto the table. Peter looks him in the eyes and finds pity and he knows exactly what Rhodey is seeing. He sees a child who has seen too much death and destruction, who has fought in wars too young and seen too many good soldiers slain on the battlefield. He sees someone to protect. 

_How very Mr. Stark of him, Peter thinks bitterly, solemnly._

“Buy yourself some lunch, will you?” Rhodey says and then squeezes Peter’s shoulder before taking off. 

Peter is too blindsided by the encounter and too angry to stay for lunch. He leaves the diner and runs and runs until his leg muscles are burning as he reaches the apartment and jogs up the stairs and fumbles for his key outside the door. Hot tears stream down his reddened cheeks, breathes coming short between sobs as he unlocks the door with trembling fingers and slams it closed. May isn’t home. He can cry as much as he wants. 

He stomps through the living room to his own bedroom and closes the door, sinks down against it and cries. His chest spasms with sobs as he draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around himself. 

Alone in the universe. 

And now, missing the one piece he had left of someone who gave his life to bring him back. 

-

There are nightmares. 

He sees the battlefield unraveling at the edges, ribbons drifting into the great unknown. There is Tony. Swallowed by blinding white pain and then in an instant, he is being burned alive. Even in dreams, Peter remembers the wretched smell of charred flesh and blood. 

He never says they won. How foolish, how stupid, how optimistic. There are no winners in war, only survivors. And he is not one of them as he stares into Tony’s lifeless eyes and begins to fall apart again, atoms being unstitched, sensation leaving him in his fingertips. His arm crumbles into a pile of ash and he cries out, begs Tony to save him. 

He can’t. 

Peter jerks awake breathless, legs tangled in sheets as someone beside him coaxes, “Hey, it’s okay. You’re here, you’re with me, it’s okay.” 

He’s hyperventilating, breathes hitching in his throat as he gasps, “I don’t-I don’t wanna-wanna go.” 

“You’re not going anywhere,” says May and she touches him arm gently. 

He snatches his arm away. Hurt flashes across May’s features as Peter turns his forearm over to see it all put together again. He curls and releases his fingers a couple times as the blood beating in his ears recedes in favor of reality. He digs his nails into the heel of his hand and feels a pinching pain, lets that bring him back down. 

“You’re here,” May assures, “You’re here, it’s okay, you’re okay.” 

Peter bites down on his lip and nods mutely because he feels close to crying again. He squeezes his eyes shut and May must know because she settles herself on the edge of his mattress and pulls him into an embrace. He wraps his arms around her and revels in her warmth, in how real she is. She cards her a hand through his hair soothingly and rocks him back and forth. 

When he’s falling apart, May is there to hold him. 

It’s not the same. 

-

**Ms. Potts (3:17pm):**   
_So would you like to come with us to see him tomorrow?_

-

Peter stands in wait on the sidewalk, a crisp autumn breeze blowing through his hair. 

Happy arrives after two minutes of Peter anxiously shifting his weight back and forth, from the balls to the heels of his feet. The sleek black town car carefully pulls along the curb and to a halt. Peter slides into the backseat. 

“Hey, Happy,” he says. 

“Hey, there,” Happy replies. In the rearview, he glances at Peter over the rim of his sunglasses. “Buckle up, we got quite a drive ahead.” 

Peter does and then settles into the leather seats, rests his chin in his hand as he watches the city pass him by. Brownstones, apartments, precincts, shopping districts. Streets change from pavement to cobblestone and to pavement again. Cyclists weave between pedestrians on the crowded sidewalks. 

They went out, one day. Him and Tony. Just to explore the city. Peter got to show him his favorite places. Delmar’s, the Thai Restaurant. The repaired ATM spot where he stopped the robbery. 

The memories and those places are a little sour now, even if the places themselves aren’t. 

“I just wanted to say,” Happy says, interrupting his thoughts. “Nice work, kid. On the, um, jewel thief you took down last week.” 

Peter’s lips tilt, just a little. “Thanks.” 

Happy shrugs. “No problem. Occurred to me I haven’t really-” he clears his throat “-given you enough credit. For the whole Spider-Man thing, you know.” 

Peter nods and then silence reigns again, only broken by the occasional strings of curses Happy lets out at the incompetence of other drivers. 

A light drizzle begins as they merge onto the tollway. The sound of rain pattering against the window meshes with the mellow rock song playing over the radio. Peter is lulled into a dreamless sleep and when he wakes, they’re arriving at the compound, where a significant plot of land was gated off to be a cemetery. There’s only three headstones and Peter wonders if one day, this might be where he too is laid to rest. 

It’s almost morbid to entertain such thoughts. May would be horrified if she knew he thought about his own mortality more than he should. But dying once is eye opening and he knows it could happen again any day. 

He kinda hopes he’d be buried in Queens where he was born and raised. Maybe by Ben too. 

Happy rolls through the outdoor security checkpoints and then they diverge away from the compound to a newly paved road leading to the cemetery. Peter has only ever been once. The day they buried him. He was the last left to leave after everyone else filtered away. He went home with Ms. Potts, spent the night on her couch. 

He sees her now, her golden hair loose against a knee length, navy dress as she stands on the edge of the grass with Rhodey and Morgan, whose hand she holds in her own. They all turn around to see Happy and Peter arrive. 

The drizzle has left. As Peter steps out, he still feels a cool, refreshing moisture in the air. He treads softly across the damp grass where Pepper is smiling, fondly but sadly. 

“Hi, Peter,” she says and opens her arms to him. He hugs her and she asks, “How are you doing?” 

“I’m okay,” he replies and withdraws. He eyes Rhodey, the bitter sting of his suit being taken away having faded. “Hey, Rhodey.” 

“Hey, Pete. You hanging in there?” 

Peter shrugs. “Kinda hard when I don’t have the suit.” 

It’s meant to be funny and thankfully, Rhodey gets the joke. He laughs. “It’s at the compound. You can have it back before you leave.” 

Immense gratitude filters in and Peter sighs in relief. “Thank you.” 

Rhodey nods curtly and then they all file away, through the wrought iron gate of the compound cemetery. 

There are three headstones. Massive but not ostentatious. He never met Pietro but Peter’s asked who he was and apparently, he was Wanda’s brother. Peter had no idea. 

But he did meet Natasha, however brief their encounter was in Germany. He wishes he knew her better. Michelle looks up to her and he’s sure they would’ve gotten along well, had they met. 

And then there’s Tony. His full name is etched into the stone and underneath, it reads, “A beloved husband, father, mentor, friend, teammate and hero.” 

Mentor. That was Ms. Potts’ idea. Peter didn’t feel worthy to have his relationship with Tony defined and on his tombstone in that way but she had insisted, told him, “He couldn’t have done this without you.” 

This being time travel and resurrecting half the universe and destroying the Mad Titan and his army. Peter knew how he factored in and couldn’t help but feel like he was also partly responsible for Tony’s eventual death. 

It wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t have something worth dying for in the first place. 

They all gather around the headstone in a crescent shape. No one really says anything at first. Peter’s limbs feel heavy, his insides painted with lead. He reads the words on the tombstone over and over again until they’re burned into his retinas. He tries to make the words mean something. 

But they don’t mean anything without the person here to give them meaning. 

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey says, steady. “I hope you’re doing alright. Hope you’re enjoying heaven or wherever it is you are now.” He exhales and Peter catches the waver in his breath before he goes on. “Things are good. We’re okay. There’s a lot going on right now but we can handle it. Just...ride with me next time, okay?” 

Silence permeates the air and Rhodey lets out a single, half choked sob before sniffling and stepping back, having said his piece. 

Grief clamps down on Peter’s heart like a vice and squeezes it, painfully. His eyes brim with tears as Happy steps forward, solemn gaze cast downward. 

“Hey, Tony,” he begins. “Like ol’ Rhodes said, I hope you’re doing good. Hope you’re resting up, drinking a mai-tai or doing whatever it is you’re doing. Running around causing problems and all that good stuff.” He pauses. “I miss you. Every day.” 

He steps back. Peter isn’t ready. There are no words. Mute, just like he was the day Tony was buried. Pepper says something first as Peter feels his resolve fracturing, throat growing wet and thick. 

“Hi, honey,” she says with a breathy laugh. She smiles. “I finally composted the garden. The marigolds are coming in nicely. And we just signed a big contract with another company but I don’t think you want to hear about that. Um, things are good. We’re managing.” She looks down at her daughter. “Morgan, you want to tell daddy what we signed you up for?” 

In a small voice, Morgan answers, “Mommy signed me up for ballet lessons, Daddy.” 

Peter doesn’t have the heart to smile and congratulate her on them. He’s barely holding it together as it is. 

Pepper goes on, “She starts next week. I’m taking her shopping to get a leotard, tights and slippers later.” She sighs. “I love you. I hope...I hope you’re resting, Tony.” She sniffles. “You’ve earned it.” 

It’s his turn now. He doesn’t know what to do other than sink to his knees, the ground damp through his jeans as he closes his eyes as it’s too painful to stare at the tombstone head on. 

_Just pretend it’s a voicemail,_ he reminds himself because somehow, it’s easier to pretend there’s someone listening on the other line rather than no one at all. 

He breathes out slowly, steadily. His voice is quiet but even when he speaks. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark, here’s my report for the week. I, um, I stopped a bodega robbery earlier in the week and I got beat by the guy on the hoverboard again. Seriously, someone’s gotta figure out a way to disable that thing. Um, and I asked MJ out finally. We’re going out to a movie next week.” 

It’s all so superficial. None of it truly matters, not in the grand scheme of things. But if there’s one thing Peter remembers, it’s that Tony listened. He cared about all of it, no matter how big or small. He’d want to know, even if it’s stupid. Even if it’s not grand or world changing. 

“And I got an A on my essay about you,” Peter continues. “My English teacher loved it. She wants me to read it in front of the school but I don’t know if I will.” 

He pauses. “I just…” He swallow thickly, his voice wet and shaky when he finishes, “I just really miss you, Mr. Stark.” His breathing hitches. “And I-I know you’re not coming back but if-if you somehow do-” 

“Peter,” Rhodey warns, like he’s treading into dangerous territory. 

Peter breathes out and rolls back onto his heels, hiding his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. To Rhodey or Tony, he doesn’t know. He peels his fingers away. His shoulders sag. “I just miss you a lot, is all. I hope you’re listening.” 

He feels a tiny hand fall light on his shoulder and he turns with red rimmed eyes to see Morgan. Her small face is sad and a little confused. She says, “Peter, Daddy always listens.” 

Peter’s lips tilt into a half smile. He reaches a hand to touch hers, fingers thin and tiny underneath his. 

It’s all broken. A part of themselves will forever be missing, the hollow ache in their chest will ring out like church bells for the rest of their lives. 

But it helps to know that there’s a little piece of Tony in them. 

And when they’re together, it’s almost, _almost,_ like he never left.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed it! be sure to leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed it and i'll talk to you guys later, thank you!!


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